I Dare You - ATBG
by BeautifulMorningStar
Summary: Okay, my first fanfic.. wow! Haha, well I always liked the subtle slashiness of Carl/Blake in the show As Told By Ginger. First chapter, hardly any slash, second chapter makes amends for that, but nothing heavy! :D Set when the ATBG group is older. Carl is thirteen and has never been the type to limit himself.. add that to hormones and suspicions about Blake, what do you get?
1. Chapter 1 - Four Years Later

"I _dare_ you, Carl."

Carl Foutley may be many things, but he was no coward. Of that, Hoodsey was absolutely sure – with the exception of the whole naked mole rat incident, and a couple other such past scenarios that have momentarily slipped his mind. No, Carl had almost always been the epitome of _total_, to the point of reckless, even, _bravery_.

However, even Hoodsey couldn't deny the slight hesitation before Carl opened his mouth to reply, or the way the stubborn redhead's hands, balled tightly into fists at his sides, trembled ever so slightly for a moment.

"Fine. But you'll be regretting this before we're through with you, Gripling, I promise you." Carl spat the words out at the smug-looking blonde boy before him. He turned abruptly away from him to face Hoodsey, who was watching the proceedings silently. "Alright, Hoodsey, I'll need you to keep watch outside the bedroom while I seal our success," he paused and glanced back at the blonde, "and bag Gripling as our personal slave."

The aforementioned blonde boy let out a scornful "Hah!" and stared arrogantly at the back of Carl's head. "If you're really under the impression that you could possibly win this bet, then you're even more daft than I ever suspected." Carl whipped around and closed the distance between himself and Blake Gripling in a few threatening steps.

"We'll see about that, Blakey-boy."

He walked away, jaw set, from a wide-eyed Blake, with Hoodsey trailing behind. Thirteen-year-old Carl had grown quite a bit in the past few years, now standing at the average height of a boy his age, no longer an inch or two shorter. He had a leaner look about him, and his clothes were darker now – brown jacket over a black T-shirt, baggy black jeans. He still wore his orangey hair in the same hairstyle, except it was now longer at the back, and his two front teeth no longer jutted out in the abnormal way they used to, his face having changed enough to make them look more in place.

They walked down the long corridor to the fancy, pastel pink door at the other end – Courtney Gripling's bedroom. It had been four years since Mr. Gripling had been arrested for insider trading, four years since the wealthy Gripling family had been brought down to their knees, four years since something in Carl Foutley had relented, enough to give Blake Gripling the friendship he had always secretly craved. Sometimes, like in the present circumstances, Carl wondered if that decision had been wise.

Sometime the year before, Mr. Gripling had been released due to new evidence brought to light, re-introducing the case to court – and successfully re-instating the Gripling name to good (albeit rather battered) reputation. Although the family was in the process of emotional and psychological recovery, the Gripling fortune seemed to have fared much better – they were able to move back into Protected Pines, to a house on the Foutley's street.

This meant that Blake became a daily visitor at the Foutley's, his friendship with Carl stronger than ever, even if he did regain some of his old refined arrogance. Then again, Blake had never really lost his old elegance and posh habits, although he had been forced into a completely new, modest style of living. He had come a long way in terms of personality; enough to please Carl and appease Hoodsey. The change of circumstances had, however, put a new strain on Carl and Hoodsey's friendship, which was already shaky enough because of Hoodsey's constant irritation at Blake, and his reluctance of spending so much time with the platinum-haired boy.

Tiptoeing into Courtney's dim room, Carl stopped and turned back to make sure Hoodsey was standing guard outside as planned. Then, taking a deep breath, he flipped on the switch of the pink lamp closest to him. One corner of the huge room was now lit up enough for Carl to see where everything basically was. He had been in Blake's room enough times to know where the younger boy kept most of his things, but Carl had hardly ever set foot into Courtney's room. He eyed the number of cabinets and drawers warily – this was going to take some time.

Outside, Hoodsey stood with his arms crossed, mind wandering to his latest encounter with Macie. Robert Joseph Bishop still went by the name of Hoodsey for the same old reason; his purple hooded sweatshirt, although a bigger size now and with a zipper down the front, was still his favourite clothing option. His baggy black jeans and black T-shirt hidden beneath the purple, a trademark of Carl's that he had taken to, was a symbol of how much he still relied on his best friend's approval. His face had grown, toning down the large features a little, and beneath the purple hood and longish, dirty-blonde hair, one ear had been recently pierced, in defiance of his parents, and to assert the control that he lacked and hadn't started to crave before he hit his teens.

Lost in the memory of his latest conversation with Macie, Hoodsey failed to hear the familiar, excitable babble of voices from down the stairway at the other end of the corridor. Blake, who had been leaning against the banister, shot towards the purple figure, hissing as he got closer, "They're coming, Hoodsey, get him _out_ of there!"

Hoodsey started, looking around at Blake, then belatedly heard Courtney's high-pitched giggle from somewhere on the stairs. He pushed open the bedroom door he had been guarding, looking around for Carl. Hearing a noise from inside Courtney's walk-in closet on the opposite side of the room, he groaned before running into the room, swerving around the canopy bed and standing in the doorway of the closet.

"Carl! She's coming, Carl, we have to get out of here. Now!"

From the midst of hanging furry coats, Carl emerged, looking panicky and irritated at the same time. "But I haven't found her stupid red bikini! I'm gonna lose that bet to Blake… no way!" He turned back around but Hoodsey grabbed his arm.

"Forget it, Carl, I'm pretty sure I heard Miranda with her."

Carl froze. Dealing with an angry Courtney Gripling was one thing, but facing the wrath of Miranda Killgallen, fresh out of her break-up with on-again-off-again boyfriend Ian Richton, was another ordeal altogether. Four years ago, he may have taken Miranda's irritation over a week as Blake's slave, but many things had changed since then – the enmity between the two boys had turned into a competitive-type friendship, and Carl had seen enough of Miranda over at the Gripling's to know not to get on her bad side on a bad day.

"Hoodsey," he stared at his best friend. "Run."

Carl and Hoodsey speedily exited the room; now as dark as when Carl had first entered it, and shut the door just as Courtney and Miranda were halfway down the corridor. Thankfully, the girls looked up just as the boys had moved away, towards the door further down on the opposite wall.

Courtney was now a sixteen-year-old babe, taller and skinny, her shoulder-length blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She was more prone to pretty dresses these days, and was wearing a short beige number, showing off her nice legs. She was still the same bubbly, enigmatic girl as before, still materialistic, but more modest and aware of who her real friends were – Ginger, and surprisingly to anyone except Courtney, Miranda. Miranda had stuck it out with her even through the horrible times of "poverty" that her family had been forced to endure, and Courtney hadn't really expected otherwise, but when she heard about how surprised other people were that Miranda hadn't taken off, she saw that there was much more worth to the friendship than she had ever realized.

"Carl? What are you boys doing over here? You know where Blake's room is," Courtney said in her posh way, jabbing a perfectly manicured thumb over her shoulder towards the way she had just come. She had gotten a bit more used to Ginger's gross little brother, seeing as Blake positively had him over at the Gripling's every time that they weren't over at the Foutley's. She knew that the purple-clad one was more prone to hanging around Ginger's house than the Gripling's, though, and she always seemed to forget his name.

Miranda eyed the boys warily, especially Carl. She had gotten taller too, adding to her already intimidating height. Her black hair was shorter, shoulder-length like Courtney's, but her favourite colours of purple and black were now more to the bright side; at the moment she was wearing a teal jacket over a cream, fitting dress. Miranda had toned down her selfish, cutting attitude over the years – even towards Ginger. Once it became obvious that Courtney would never replace her with Ginger, or anyone else, Miranda learnt to relax a bit more around them, and Courtney's whole "poverty" ordeal had really brought them closer as friends. However, she was still not too fond of Carl Foutley. She crossed her arms as Carl let out a little, nervous laugh.

"Oh, we know, ladies. We just went to the bathroom here," he indicated the blue door he and Hoodsey stood in front of. "Blake was using the other one."

"You went to the bathroom… together?" Miranda asked suspiciously, just as Carl was silently congratulating himself on his quick thinking. Courtney wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought.

"Of course not… Hoodsey here… ah, was just coming to tell me to hurry up, is all. Real impatient man, Hoodsey," Carl nudged him in the side.

"Oh! Y-yeah," Hoodsey stuttered. "He just took so long!"

"Riiight." Miranda drawled, but Courtney impatiently dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

"Come on, Miranda, we don't have time for this! Let's get back to our new mission!" She grabbed the darker girl's hand and soon the two had disappeared into Courtney's room, door closing behind them with a snap.

Carl and Hoodsey breathed out a sigh of relief as one, but soon Carl let out a resigned groan. Now he would have to face a very smug Blake – and the consequences of not stealing that stupid bikini in time. One week as Blake's personal servant! How would he stand it?

"Come on, Carl, let's get out of here," Hoodsey stated, having noted that Blake wasn't anywhere in sight. "I got to get home, anyways. Maybe if we make a run for it, he won't get you until tomorrow!"

Carl's back straightened and he made a face. "I am _not_ running from Gripling, Hoodsey." He sighed. "Besides, he wouldn't dare embarrass me too much about it… he just wanted to win. How bad could it be?"

They walked down the corridor, past the staircase, as Hoodsey shook his head. "Whatever you say, Carl." Carl stopped and placed a hand on Hoodsey's shoulder.

"But you can go home if you want, Hoods. I do remember that Jojo went crazy on you the last time you missed your grounded curfew." Hoodsey made a face at the mention of his mother – and Carl's weird nickname for her. "I can handle Blakey-boy by myself, don't worry."


	2. Chapter 2 - OMS,T,aSE

A/N: Well, obviously since there was no slash in the first chapter, I had to make up for it with my second! This whole chapter is Carl/Blake. I really hope anyone out there who reads this, likes it! No flaming please, if you don't like slash, don't read any further. Feedback is welcome :D

CHAPTER TWO – Of Mutant Spinach, Tadpoles and _Something_ Else

Carl walked sullenly up to the heavy wooden door, which was slightly ajar. Quietly, he pushed it open, sliding into the dimly lit room. The walls were painted a cream and serene dark blue, the room itself neatly organized. The furniture was of the partially gilded, oaken variety. Carl made his way over to the bed, where a slim figure was sprawled face-upwards, arms outstretched.

"Come to beg for mercy, old chap?"

Carl snorted. "Cut the crap, Gripling. You know I won't beg."

Blake sat up, grinning. "Ah, yes. After all, as you so eloquently told _Woodsey,_ you are planning to _handle_ me all by yourself."

Carl felt his ears heat up, although he wasn't exactly sure why. So Blakey-boy had been hiding somewhere, eavesdropping, had he? Made sense that he'd hang around to see if Carl and Hoodsey survived Miranda and Courtney. He ignored Blake's misuse of Hoodsey's name, knowing full well that it had been done on purpose. Carl fidgeted, uncomfortably aware of the younger boy's gaze. He finally raised his head to meet the intense, bright blue eyes staring unwaveringly at him.

"Well, a deal's a deal, Gripling." Carl sighed. "Just try not to, err, overdo things, alright?"

Blake made a sarcastic sound in his throat. "I hardly think, based on our history, that _I_ am usually the one to… overdo things, as you say." He got up and smoothly moved to stand right in front of Carl, face tilted upwards only slightly to look him in the eye. "Although I must say, I am quite looking forward to this."

Blake Gripling had always been a good-looking boy, and he was now on the brink of turning into a good-looking young man. His light, wavy blonde hair was a little longer than back in the good old days, but otherwise he basically sported the same hairstyle. His light blue eyes were usually bright, shining with intelligence beyond his years. He was only an inch or so shorter than Carl, although he was younger by two years, making him actually tall for his age. His frame was still petite and skinny, but his style of dressing had changed into wearing turtleneck sweaters and skinny black jeans. His voice was still the same, but not nearly as annoying as it used to be, and Carl found himself fond of Blake's ridiculously long-winded way of speaking.

"Well," Blake stepped away from Carl after a moment, and Carl found himself relaxing slightly. He frowned; he hadn't realized that he had tensed up so much from that staring match with Blake. "I suppose I should give you today off, so you can brace yourself for the next six days of servitude." Blake glanced back at the surly redhead, grinning. "A little hint: your wardrobe will consist of French maid dresses."

Carl groaned. "Aww, Blake, that's disgusting." He suddenly looked at the younger boy in horror – he _was_ just joking, wasn't he?

Blake laughed. "Relax, Foutley, I was just pulling your leg." He turned and fell back onto his bed, eyes closed. "But you can be sure, you'll definitely be carrying my books around at school."

His eyes snapped open as he felt a weight on his mattress, and Carl's face appeared above his, smirking. "Blakey-boy, if that's gonna be the worst of it, then I think I may just survive this." Blake stared up at him, mouth suddenly dry. Curse Carl Foutley and his devilishly mischievous grin, his lightly freckled, tan skin, his sly, slightly hooded eyes. Blake had long considered Foutley a worthy adversary, had run around trying to buy his friendship, and after earning it by losing the very money he had intended to buy it with, he found himself admiring Carl more and more each day. It was absolutely ridiculous; he had no idea when it would end.

"Well, I don't see what the problem is with dressing up as a French maid anyway, seeing as you've already run around in public as mutant seaweed." Blake gave Carl his most arrogant smirk, although his heart wasn't quite in it this time. "Remember? The year you kidnapped me to sacrifice to a ghost on Halloween?" He had momentarily forgotten Hoodsey's involvement, as the memory of a younger Carl's hand planted firmly over his mouth flashed through his head. He had been so small then, Carl could probably have abducted him even without Hoodsey's help.

Carl scowled. "It was mutant _spinach_, Gripling. Spinach! The bane of many a child's existence." He grinned, and rolled over, away from Blake. "Besides, Maude herself said she didn't want you… what was it she called you? Oh yeah... too high strung."

Carl rolled around laughing, as Blake grabbed one of his overstuffed pillows and hit him repeatedly with it. The younger boy repressed a shudder at the memory of the ghost that had momentarily taken possession of Hoodsey, and tried to distract himself by hitting Carl particularly viciously with the poor pillow. Carl merely kept laughing, before suddenly grabbing the pillow from Blake as easily as taking candy from a baby. He tossed it aside, then jumped onto the younger boy as he tried to make his escape. Blake, finding himself defenseless and pinned underneath Carl, groaned.

"Get _off_ me, Foutley!" The blonde's arms flailed wildly as Carl leant heavily into his back.

"In your dreams, Blakey-boy." _Not quite right about that, Carl_, said a snide voice in Blake's head, which made him blush. Carl didn't notice. "Didn't really think I'd let you get away with an attack like that, didcha?"

Blake said something unintelligible under his breath.

"What was that, Blakey?"

"I said- I can't breathe, Carl!" gasped Blake. Rolling his eyes, Carl got off the other boy, who shuddered slightly as he got up. Avoiding Carl's eyes, he scooted to the other side of the bed. He couldn't help the embarrassing blush creeping up his neck to his face. Turning away, he pretended to be busy fussing with his sky-blue turtleneck sweater.

Carl watched Blake curiously. Had he gone too far? He used to wonder, back when their friendship had just started solidifying, whether he had hurt or offended Blake whenever the blue-eyed boy pulled away from him, face flushed. But somewhere along the line, a new, disturbing idea had been lurking in the back of Carl's mind, a nagging suspicion that had never quite been formed into words in his head. Blake had always been rather admiring of and – slightly obsessed with, really – Carl, not to mention scornful of Hoodsey. Carl had always just brushed it off as jealousy of Hoodsey being Carl's best friend, but could it have been a different sort of jealousy?

Carl got to his feet, uneasily. That suspicion at the back of his mind had been pushing to the front recently, and at the moment, he found himself actually thinking about it. Could Blake Gripling actually have some sort of crush on him – Carl Foutley?

Carl stared at the floor unseeingly. Surely, it was just admiration on the younger boy's part, and there was nothing wrong with _that _– sometimes when you get really close with someone, you find that you love them very much, not in a romantic way, but in a "you-can-count-on-me, I-care-about-you" kinda way. He and Hoodsey shared that sort of friendship, they had known each other practically all their lives. But, somehow… Carl winced as he tried to fit this scenario into that explanation; they were like two different puzzle pieces that just didn't fit together.

Things were different with Gripling; they hadn't known each other as long, and there had always been… something else. Carl wasn't quite sure what it was, but now that he really thought about it, he knew it was there. It had been there when he was nine, sneering at a bratty, annoying seven-year-old Blake, telling him to leave Carl and Hoodsey alone. It had been there when that same little Blake had collapsed into his arms, broke and sobbing, on his backdoor step four years ago. It had been there when ten-year-old Carl had visited Miss Gordon's grave on the first anniversary of her death, Blake tagging along because Hoodsey was ill that day, and when Blake ended up comforting a distraught Carl. It had been there when Carl generously saved up to get nine-year-old Blake a new bicycle for his birthday.

It had been there the day Blake moved back into Protected Pines with his family, and had surprised Carl at the last minute by showing him the new home, only a few houses down from the Foutley's; he had spent half the day describing what his bedroom would look like to an amused Carl.

Carl thought feverishly back to a few days before, when him and Blake were out spying on Courtney and Miranda for the heck of it. They had followed them into a neighbouring town, but lost them during the evening, and realized that they were lost themselves. It had been getting dark when they stumbled across a park with a lake in the middle of it, and Carl insisted on looking for frogs and tadpoles to collect.

Blake had wrinkled his nose from a safe distance as Carl sloshed through the water near the muddy banks, declaring that he was going to get in trouble if they didn't find their way back home soon. Carl had then heard a loud splash, and turned to find Blake flailing around wildly in the water. The area he had fallen in was deep, and the heavy clothes he had been wearing that day was weighing him down, making it hard for him to swim to shallower waters.

Carl had swum out to get him without a second thought, getting a tight hold on the panicked boy when he had reached him; he had tugged Blake's heavy denim jacket off, and laboriously dragged him back to the edge of the water. They had collapsed onto the muddy ground, panting, and Carl frowned as he remembered this bit – both of Blake's arms had been locked around Carl's neck, and it had taken a lot of soothing on Carl's part to make him let go. Of course, both boys got an earful from their mothers when they had finally managed to get home later, dripping wet.

Back in the bedroom, Blake watched as Carl sunk deeper into his reverie, that strange look etched on his face. The young Gripling agitatedly walked over to him, but Carl didn't seem to notice. He frowned and reached out to place a hand on Carl's shoulder.

Carl jumped, startled back into the present; his reaction startled Blake as well, who drew back his hand hastily. Carl stared up at the blonde boy for a moment, then got up rather quickly and moved towards the door.

"Carl! Whatever is the matter with you?" Blake eyed the older boy nervously. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going home, Blakey," Carl said tiredly after a moment's hesitation. "I've got some things to think about."

"Alrightey then, but don't forget our deal, Foutley – starting tomorrow, you're mine!" Blake said confidently "Right. Okay then… see you tomorrow." Carl said quietly, avoiding Blake's eyes. He turned around and left the room without any further ado; leaving behind a very confused Blake, whose confident smile had been replaced by a frown.


	3. Chapter 3 - Something's Amiss

First of all, I'd like to thank the anonymous reviewer who calls her/himself "Someone", for the encouragement. Either there's no way to reply anonymous reviewers, or I'm still a total novice at this site. Anyway it's nice to know that there's someone out there (no pun intended) who's read my story, liked it, and was nice enough to leave a review. Thank you! You have successfully motivated me to update faster :D

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The slender boy clad in blue glanced around, foot tapping impatiently, longish, flaxen hair whipping around slightly in the brisk wind. It was a bleak Monday morning, and Blake was leaning against a lamppost, waiting for the arrival of Carl so they could walk to school together as usual. However, the redhead seemed to be running late, annoyingly enough; Blake checked his watch for the eight time that morning and sighed.

"I suppose there's nothing for it then, I'll have to go on without him today…" He muttered under his breath, and started off in a rather gloomy mood. He hadn't gotten too far though, before a shout rent through the air, halting him in his tracks.

"HEY GRIPLING! WAIT UP!"

Blake spun around, and stood with his arms crossed as a tired-looking Carl jogged towards him, backpack clutched in one hand. He slid to a stop in front of Blake, and took a moment to catch his breath, doubled over and panting. Blake stared at the top of the ginger head before him, and Carl, sensing the disapproving look, raised his head. Hooded green eyes met bright blue ones, and Carl gave a sheepish grin.

"I guess we should really start running now, huh?"

"Honestly, Carl, next time you intend to get us both into trouble for being tardy, just let me know in advance." Blake set off with a huff. "Here-"

He shoved his brown backpack at Carl, "-as my official slave, you may have the honour of carrying my stuff to school."

"Chill out, Blakey-boy, we still got like… ten minutes."

"WHAT!?"

Carl winced slightly as he realized that he had just made things worse. "Uhh… race you there!" The redhead took off, both backpacks bouncing against his back, laughing rather maniacally.

"_Carl_!" Blake stamped his foot in irritation before taking off in pursuit of the older boy.

The bell had just rung by the time the two boys had reached the outside gates of their high school, and they barely paused for breath as they dashed towards the front doors. A student monitor stepped out to survey the surroundings, spotting the two approaching boys at once.

"Cutting it close again, Foutley," the brown-haired senior stated coldly. Carl had quickly made a name for himself the moment he set foot in high school, being the troublemaker that he was, and it always took Blake a bit of effort not to get caught in the middle of the redhead's messes. One direct result of Carl's shenanigans was that all the teachers, as well as the hall monitors and prefects, could spot him from a mile away.

"Just keepin' you on your toes, Ryan, my man." Carl pulled up one corner of his mouth in a devilish smile, his charm turned on at full blast. Blake found himself wanting to strangle Ryan; Carl never bothered grinning at _Blake_ like that.

The tall, lanky senior before them sighed in disapproval. "Oh, get on with it, Foutley. If you're ten minutes late for class, you'll probably get a detention."

"Depends on _whose_ class it is," Carl said cheekily, winking. He sailed past the taller boy confidently, Blake grumpily stomping after him. The senior rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, but there was a small smile pulling at his lips. Carl grinned in triumph as he darted through the hallways; Blake scowled.

It turned out that they did manage to avoid a detention, seeing as they had first period with Mr. Curving, their amiable, young English Lit teacher. One glance around the classroom told Carl that Hoodsey was absent for some reason. As Mr. Curving droned on about the intricate themes of Hamlet, Blake, who usually listened to the young man's pleasant voice with rapt attention, found himself staring fixedly at the back of Carl's head, barely registering a word. He failed twice to answer the random questions he usually conquered with ease, to Mr. Curving's obvious disappointment.

"Jeez, Blake, what _happened_ to you earlier?" Much later, they were having Geography with Miss Todd, who after assigning them some work, had dozed off on her table at the front of the class. "You're usually Mr. PrettyBoy's prize pupil."

Blake glared at Carl. "Don't _call_ him that, Carl," he twirled a pencil between his fingers, "It's so rude of you."

Carl yanked the pencil out of the younger boy's grip, and started rolling it around on Blake's table just to grate on his nerves. "Aw, come on, Blakey – he kinda _is_ a pretty boy, got loads of crushes from the girls – and possibly you too."

The other boy gasped and quickly glanced around to ensure that nobody had heard; indeed, everyone was too busy gossiping or fooling around to have paid them any attention. "I do _not_ have a crush on him!" He hissed indignantly at Carl. Then, as an afterthought, "Besides, he's a man, Foutley. I'm a male, he's a male – do you see the problem here?"

Carl raised his eyebrows. "Oh, that a problem to you, Blakey-boy? I didn't think you'd have been one to limit yourself." Internally, Carl wondered why he was indirectly asking Blake the question he had tortured himself with countless times the night before. The matter had plagued him so relentlessly that he hadn't really managed to sleep much, and had subsequently woken up late.

The young Gripling stared at his blunt friend wordlessly; Carl couldn't quite decipher the blank look on his face. Vaguely, he realized Blake was quite the "pretty boy" too, in a way; he had always just described him as "the bratty rich kid" before he became Blakey-boy, and Carl realized he'd never really studied Blake's refined features before.

Deciding that the silence between them had stretched on for too long, Carl sighed and started poking at Blake's arm with the eraser end of the pencil. "Well, if it's not our dear Shakespeare-lover, who could Blake Gripling possibly be crushing on, I wonder?"

Blake lowered his stare to his folded arms, and the attacking pencil. His eyes were unreadable; Carl's gaze lingered a little too long on those straight lashes, before slowly moving down to survey the pink, puckered mouth. Blake had always had a defined chin, something he had been oh-so-superior about when they were younger; Carl remembered his own desire to get a stronger chin via plastic surgery, and seven-year-old Blake's voice echoed somewhere in the back of his memory:

"I see your point… or perhaps, the lack of one?"

"C-Carl? Whatever are you staring at? Carl!"

Carl snapped out of his short trip down memory lane at the sound of eleven-year-old Blake's voice, and realized that he had still been staring at the bottom half of his friend's face. He quickly turned away, eyes wide, wondering if he was losing his mind.

Blake looked like he was about to say something, but just then the bell for lunch rang, and chaos ensued as most of the class tried to run out first. The older boy hurriedly got up to join in the rush, but Blake quickly pulled him back by the arm.

"You're my personal slave, now, Carl… remember?" Blake grinned as he dumped a load of books into his friend's arms. "You may drop these off at my locker. I'm sure you know the combination by heart now, having sneakily hung around enough to decipher it for yourself."

Carl groaned. He _had_ spied on Blake countless times before and he _did_ know his locker combination. He hadn't known that the younger boy had been aware of the fact, though; that made his plans of hiding stuff in there for pranks seem less fun. He shot the shorter boy a sulky look as they exited the classroom. Blake saw it and chuckled.

"Hurry up then, Carl; I suppose I shall be the magnanimous master that I am and save you a seat, but I expect you to get me my lunch."

"Once this stupid slavery thing is over, Blakey, I'm gonna wipe that smug look right off your face."

Said smug look grew wider. "We'll see about that, Foutley."

/

/

At one corner of the cafeteria, at a table that seated six, two boys sat alone, one of them picking glumly at his food while the other ate ravenously.

"Honestly, Carl, are you going to eat or not?"

Carl looked up, jolted out of his thoughts, at the very person he had been thinking about. "Oh… uhh… no. Not really."

Blake rolled his eyes. "Well, you can just hand over your crisps and Jell-O if you're not going to finish them."

The redhead just silently pushed his tray towards Blake, to the younger boy's surprise. Blake frowned; whatever was bothering Carl lately seemed more serious than he had first thought – the older boy never willingly gave up his favourite lunch of crisps, cheese macaroni and Jell-O.

"Foutley, if there's something important on your mind, I suggest you spit it out already."

Carl looked at his friend silently. There was no way in hell he was going to tell Blake about what had been eating away at him. He merely shook his head and turned away, surveying a table of pretty cheerleaders who were giggling over some new piece of gossip. Blake huffed in irritation.

The rest of the lunch period was spent in silence.

"Well, then you can dispose of these," Blake waved a hand at the empty trays, as the bell rang to indicate the start of classes again. He watched as Carl cleaned up after them without a fuss, brow furrowed. Whatever it was that had Carl Foutley so distracted, Blake decided that he would get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, he intended to fully use the advantages of having his own personal servant…

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A/N : Okay, I know it was short, but I haven't had much time lately. Hope you can bear with me until the next chapter ^^ Reviews are highly appreciated! :) I'm just glad if anyone's reading this stuff. Cheers!


	4. Chapter 4 - The Misleading Frame

A/N: First off, can I just say how happy I am to those who reviewed or followed this story? Thank you so much! :') It's nice to know people are actually reading this.

To that mysterious Someone: I'm glad you liked the pun :p and thank you! You really are inspiring :D I hope you like what I've updated!

Sorry it's been a while since my last update, but in apology, here - take two chapters instead of one! xD

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A loud sigh escaped the bored figure who was reclining on the carpeted floor. His soft hair was spread out around his head, looking like a messy halo under the dim lighting. He flipped through the music magazine in his hands, for want of something better to do; but his mind wandered despite his mild efforts to keep it busy.

After school both that day and the previous day, Carl had dutifully carried Blake's stuff for him as they walked home together. Although Blake hadn't demanded that Carl do anything particularly embarrassing or strenuous so far, he had still expected the older boy to complain, display annoyance or even just roll his eyes – but Carl had suddenly withdrawn into himself. He hadn't shown any reluctance, let alone put up any resistance, and Blake was almost unnerved by it.

Sighing again, Blake tossed the magazine aside, not caring where it landed. He stared up at the hanging green pterodactyl above him, and the black ceiling beyond it. How many times before had he studied the unmoving, plastic creature, on this very same patch of floor?

His mind drifted away again, and he thought back to the day before. The two of them had entered the Gripling house after school, and Carl had dropped Blake's bag on his bed, then turned around and stated that he was going to Hoodsey's to see why he had been absent. Before Blake could respond, the redhead had rushed off, to the younger boy's chagrin. Carl had been acting strange enough at school, what with his sudden silence and his reluctance to eat, and Blake had hoped he would return to his normal, loud self by the next day.

He had been wrong.

Carl had continued to be totally wrapped up in his own world, and Blake practically had to stop himself from ordering Carl to do something stupid just to get a reaction. He had a feeling that the older boy had something on his mind that was really troubling him, and it sometimes seemed like it had something to do with Blake… but surely he was _just_ being paranoid, he assured himself.

The blond rolled onto his side, and his finger traced the pattern of alien spaceships in the carpet. He didn't see why Carl would suddenly start acting so strangely; it couldn't have been the dare, could it? But he had lost their bets before (although not quite as often as Blake did) and it hadn't affected him in this way. Blake irritatedly got up into a sitting position, and firmly resolved to push the matter out of his mind; over-thinking it wouldn't solve anything.

He turned around as he heard the creak of the door being nudged open; the thirteen-year-old who had been occupying his thoughts entered, bearing a tray of snacks and tall glasses filled with soda. Placing the tray on one of the low white tables, Carl hesitated briefly before moving to shut his bedroom door.

"Well, about time, Foutley," said Blake, eyeing Carl. "I was beginning to think you had forgotten the way back up here."

"Ginger found out that I'd finished the apple pie she'd baked," Carl said quietly. "Took her a while to stop the yelling." He walked past where Blake was sitting and flopped onto his bed.

Blake frowned; Carl hadn't even rolled his eyes or smirked as he talked, the way he usually would when recounting annoying his sister. Trying not to look up at the moody boy on the bed, he moved towards the table with the tray on it. He reached out for a soda; the sight of the cold beads of perspiration running down the side of the glass was making him thirsty.

Sipping delicately, the younger boy decided to break the silence. "Aren't you going to drop over at Hoodsey's today?"

Carl shrugged non-commitally, still staring at his wall. "I'll just call him later… he's probably still got the flu."

"Oh…" Blake frowned; Carl had shrugged the same way earlier, when Blake had suggested they head over to the Foutley's after school. Racking his brains for what to say next (he was rather tired of Carl's silent, contemplative demeanor), he suddenly remembered something. "Anyway, where's my book on vampire history, Carl? I accidentally left it here during my previous visit, remember?"

Carl finally sat up, and looked around his messy room. "Good question, that, Gripling… uhh, must be around here somewhere, I was looking at it the other day-"

He started searching for the item in question, and Blake grinned a little, as his best friend seemed to come back to life somewhat. He himself looked around at Carl's large, cluttered room, wondering where on earth Foutley could have hidden his treasured book.

"Could it possibly be in the Rocket, Carl?"

The "Rocket" was the alcove-like niche above Carl's bed, built like a huge compartment over it with a ladder. The whole structure was pretty solid - made of wood with a curtain for privacy, and the niche was large enough for four people to cozily fit in among some of Carl's possessions. Carl had considered naming it "Doghouse Junior", but his newfound fascination with shuttles at the time had won him over, and the name "Rocket" had stuck ever since.

The redhead turned his head to survey the Rocket thoughtfully, as he rummaged through his bedside drawer. "It could be-"

Blake was already climbing the ladder; Carl went through a pile of junk on the other side of his bed, trying not to stare at the considerable amount of exposed skin when the blonde's turtleneck hitched upwards. Pushing past the purple curtain, Blake peered into the dim space – he could see a stack of books and magazines in one corner, and he climbed inside, making his way over to look through them.

Suddenly, his palm pressed down on something that poked into him; he quickly drew his hand back with a slight yelp. Clenching his hand, he looked down at the culprit – a sharp-edged picture frame, facing downwards. Annoyed, he picked it up to place it next to the stack of books, but froze when his eye caught sight of the picture.

It was a picture of Carl and Noelle Sussman that had been taken nearly two years ago. Blake remembered that Carl had met up with her at some Psychic convention, and the two of them had apparently spent a great day together, despite their past. Blake had been utterly peeved about it, back then – or at least, he had been until Noelle had started dating a sandy-haired boy from her school who had the power of telekinesis. Carl had been upset when he heard, and the picture had disappeared from his collection of photographs on his bedside table; swept into a drawer out of sight.

Until now, apparently.

The blue-eyed gaze intensified as he wondered why Carl had suddenly taken it back out of hiding. Was he brooding over Noelle again? Blake had gotten the impression that the older boy had finally given up on her for good, but could he have just hidden his true feelings away?

The things that made it up to the Rocket, Blake knew, were the objects that Carl Foutley would spend generous amounts of his time on. His favourite books, sheets of paper filled with his schemes, jars of floating, gruesome things that he could stare at for hours (including his precious petrified eyeball) and his game boy. Gripling was an intelligent young man who knew his best friend well. If this single, dreaded picture had made it up here, then Carl had obviously spent a lot of time over it.

Was this the reason Carl had been acting so oddly lately? Was his mind always on… _Noelle Sussman_? A strange mixture of disappointment, sadness and betrayal settled over the blond.

"Blakey-boy! I found it!" Carl's triumphant yell broke into the younger boy's musings, but instead of making him smile, the sound seemed hollow in his ears. He backed out of the niche, dropping the picture frame blindly and going back down the ladder.

Carl was standing right behind him, and waved the book in his face when he turned around. "It was in my backpack, I forgot I'd put it there to give it back to you at school."

Blake took his book without looking at Carl or saying anything. He wasn't entirely sure, but a suspicious prickling at the corners of his eyes told him that if he didn't try to quell the uprising wave of emotions inside his slim body, he was going to make a fool of himself in front of Foutley.

Carl sensed that something was wrong; he frowned at Blake as the smaller boy turned away from him and shoved the book into his bag. "Hey Gripling, you okay?"

Blake's voice came out slightly strangled. "Everything's just peachy, Foutley. Absolutely peachy," he moved away and drained his glass of soda, setting it back onto the table, then hoisted his bag. "Well, must be off, got loads to do. I'll see you tomorrow then… I suppose."

"Blake?" Carl quickly crossed over to his friend before he could slip out the door. "Is something wrong?"

The young Gripling glanced up at the taller boy who was standing so close to him, his hand placed concernedly on Blake's shoulder. He was pretty sure he'd managed to keep his eyes dry, but he couldn't be sure of what his expression might give away – he shrugged Carl's hand off impatiently.

"I'm fine, Foutley." He paused, unsure of what to say next. Carl stared.

"Blakey-"

"See you around." Blake said shortly, and the next thing Carl knew, he had exited the room, pulling the door closed behind him with a snap.

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A/N: Next chapter will be longer.. I hope you liked it! Don't be too disappointed by the turn of events ;) There is more to comeee


	5. Chapter 5 - Almost

A/N: Hehe, well, not much to say here, since it's basically being posted up along with the previous chapter. Enjoy! :D

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Carl tramped out of the school entrance, ignoring the slight drizzle of rain that had started hitting against his form. His shock of orange-red hair fell over his face, as he kicked pebbles aggressively away from his path. Glancing back sullenly at the dispersing crowd around the high school, Carl stopped for a moment to make sure that the platinum blonde head wasn't anywhere in sight.

It had been a rather desolate Wednesday, what with Hoodsey still absent from school and Blake avoiding Carl. He just couldn't fathom what had gotten into the younger boy all of a sudden; he had been a no-show that morning when Carl went to their usual meeting place where they started their walk to school together. Finally concluding that Blake was skipping today, Carl had run to school just in time to dash into class before the final warning bell.

After getting snapped at by Miss Todd to take his seat, Carl had turned around to find that the seat behind his was occupied, as usual, by Blake. After a second of staring, he had hurriedly gone to sit down. Miss Todd wasn't having one of her drowsy days, however, and Carl had to wait until the few free minutes before the next teacher arrived to accost Blake.

"What gives, Gripling?" he had spun around and hissed at the platinum head bent over a textbook. "Where were you this morning?"

Determined not to meet his best friend's eyes, Blake had stared at the page without really reading, quickly thinking up an answer. "Sorry, old chap, I had Winston drive me today," he finally muttered, sensing Carl's glare.

"But – why?"

Blake had gazed down at a diagram of the inside of a heart, not registering what he was seeing except that it was red. "Well… it looked like it was going to rain."

Carl had stared at him, nonplussed. Before he could say anything else, though, their Science teacher had marched in, barking for all of them to shut up.

Back in the present, Carl crossed a street, wondering what he could have done to offend Blake. Although the younger boy had been making excuses for his behaviour all day, Carl couldn't help suspecting that it had been _his_ fault, somehow. It was officially the fourth day of his "slavery" to Blake, yet the blond had been strangely distant, and hadn't asked him to do a thing. He had finally decided to confront Blake about it after school, but then the Gripling had claimed that he was staying back for a long, important meeting with Mr. Curving, and asked Carl to go ahead without him.

Carl snorted as he realized he was worried about being let off the hook. If Gripling didn't want to make use of him while he was still tied down by the dare, surely he should be gleefully celebrating his good fortune? He grimaced as he remembered how Blake wouldn't look at him earlier; in all honesty, he felt like punching a wall, not celebrating.

The rain was falling a little harder now, and Carl's damp hair was in danger of getting soaked through and plastered to his skull. He jerked up his brown hoodie, shifted his backpack and started jogging. Of _course_ it would start raining harder as he walked home, what else could possibly make this day any worse-?

A little way behind the frustrated redhead, at the end of the street, a black limousine turned around the bend, coming into full view if Carl had chosen to look over his shoulder. The driver of the vehicle caught sight of the hooded figure jogging ahead with a backpack slung over one shoulder, and recognized him at once. He pressed a button, and the glass partition between the driver's cab and the back of the limo slid down, causing the forlorn figure sitting in the back to look up.

"Sorry to intrude on your thoughts, Master Blake," said Winston pleasantly. "But isn't that Master Carl just up ahead? He seems to be fighting a losing battle with the weather."

Jolted out of his depressed reverie, Blake dashed forward to peer over Winston's shoulder at the pavement up ahead. Spotting Carl, he let out a groan. He had tried to evade the redhead all day, going as far as telling Winston that he wasn't feeling good and would rather be driven to and back from school. He had even lied to Carl about having to meet a teacher after school, so that he wouldn't have to explain why he wasn't walking back as usual…

"Perhaps we could offer the young Master Foutley a ride?" Winston inquired, rather surprised that Blake hadn't already asked him to stop ahead for Carl. A slight suspicion about the reason for Blake's low spirits wriggled into the older man's head.

Blake's thoughts raced around inside his own head, as he considered his options and their consequences. If he asked Winston to keep driving, Carl would probably notice the limo and recognize it, and although Blake could later claim that they hadn't seen him to explain why they didn't stop, Carl would know Blake had left school too early to have been at any kind of meeting. If they did stop to offer Carl a lift, then Carl _would_ know Blake hadn't gone to a meeting – _and_ he would probably ask him about it immediately. He couldn't ask Winston to stay behind Carl all the way back to Protected Pines, without having to explain why, and Blake himself wasn't quite sure about his own feelings yet.

Glancing back up, he saw that they were much closer to Carl now, the older boy walking at a very brisk pace, head down against the onslaught of rain. He caught the small shiver that ran through that stubborn form, and saw Carl hug himself tighter. The younger boy sighed.

"Pull over, Winston," he said resignedly.

Outside, Carl had been cursing the rain so thoroughly that he barely noticed the black vehicle that was slowing down beside him. Hearing his name suddenly called out, he jerked his head up in surprise and finally saw the limo beside him, barely moving, with a familiar face poking out of a wound-down window.

"Need a ride, Foutley?" Blake grinned slightly despite himself. Carl stopped in astonishment, staring at Blake – wasn't he supposed to be at school? It couldn't have been longer than five to ten minutes since school ended.

He didn't spend too long wondering, though, since his hoodie was almost soaked through.

"I think I'll take you up on that offer, Gripling," he said loudly over the rain, and wasted no time in getting into the dry, quiet interior of the car. Shutting the door after him, he turned around to grin at Blake – only to find the younger boy immersed in fiddling with the hem of his teal gray sweater. Carl frowned, pushing the wet hood of his jacket down, and running his hands through his damp hair.

"Hello, Master Carl," came Winston's voice from the front. "I do hope you haven't caught a cold."

"Hey there, Winston, my man," Carl smiled at the butler's reflection in the rearview mirror. "Don't worry about me, it takes more than a little rain to defeat Carl Foutley." _Although this crazy dilemma just might do it_, he thought, glancing at Blake.

"A little? I'm not sure I agree with your definition of "_little_", Master Foutley, but I'm happy to hear that all the same." Chuckling, Winston had the glass partition slide back up to give the young masters their privacy. He had a feeling the two boys had something to work out amongst themselves.

Carl watched the glass partition slide back into place, anticipation of talking alone with Blake building up inside him. The events of that strange day had shaken him out of the conflict of emotions and thoughts he had been experiencing ever since the day he lost the dare. He had realized something while walking in the rain – he had missed Blake, even though it had just been one day, and even then when he had him constantly in sight. Blake's weird new determination to avoid him had worried him beyond his previous concerns, and he wanted answers.

"So, uhh, what happened to that meeting?" His eyes settled on the boy beside him. A faint flush appeared on the paler boy's face as he sensed his friend's keen gaze.

"Right. The meeting," Blake quickly thought up a realistic lie. "It was cancelled, Mr. Curving had to rush off at the last minute. Said something about an emergency of some sort…" His voice trailed off, his eyes still determinedly fixed on his sweater.

"Oh. I see," Carl said, then glanced at the glass partition. "It sure was cool of Winston to come pick you up, I guess he didn't want you walking back in the rain."

Blake blinked. Carl had assumed that Winston had made the decision to pick Blake up… which meant he didn't have to lie again. Relieved, he let out a nonchalant "mmhmm" and unconsciously lifted his gaze to meet Carl's. He froze as he met those bright, leaf green eyes, surveying him as though he was the most puzzling and – Blake tried to ignore the thrill that went through him – important thing in the world.

"Err," he said intelligently. Even smart kids like him who could afford to skip two grades in their education had their less-than-shining moments.

"What was up with you today, Blake?" Carl sounded uncharacteristically serious. "You've been acting really weird. Did I do something-?"

A rush of confusion overcame Blake as he thought of the picture in Carl's room, carelessly left in the Rocket. Could he have over-reacted to finding it there? Maybe there was some less-upsetting reason why it had been up there, and Carl wasn't secretly craving for Noelle. More importantly – Blake's mouth thinned as he thought of the question he had pushed away until now – why was it so important to him? After all, was there really anything between Foutley and himself?

By now the blonde boy knew perfectly well what his feelings were regarding Carl Foutley. He had admitted to himself, the day Carl had teased him about Curving, that there was no denying it any longer – he cared about the redhead, with an affection that went beyond a platonic friendship.

Whether he would ever be able to tell Foutley, on the other hand, was something Blake couldn't quite answer.

"Hellooo, Earth to Gripling, come in Gripling!" Carl waved a hand in front of Blake's face, his loud voice breaking into the younger boy's reflections.

"Wha-" Blake spluttered, falling back slightly. He stared at Carl, quickly trying to regain his senses under that intense gaze. The way he looked at him, surely there was _something_ there…?

"Honestly, Carl, that really wasn't necessary," Blake huffed indignantly.

"You were spacing out on me, Gripling," Carl said dismissively. "I wanna know _why_ you've been avoiding me. If it's something I did, spit it out already."

Blake gaped at his friend, forever the blunt, tactless interrogator. He wondered briefly if he should mention the picture, but then realized he'd have to explain why he was so affected by it. A flash of anger surprised him, and he gazed reproachfully at Carl.

"I just wasn't feeling well today, Carl. It's nothing you have to worry yourself about," he said rather haughtily, turning away. The next thing he knew, a hand slammed down on the upholstery right in front of his face. Startled, Blake let out something like a yelp, turning back to find Carl's face inches from his. The older boy had moved forward into an awkward position, nearly straddling Blake, but still balancing his knee on the seat somehow.

"There's something you're not telling me, Blakey-boy," he said in a low voice, his eyes burning into the widened blue ones before him. "Quit lying."

"I _told_ you, Foutley," the blonde began in an irritated tone. "I was just feeling a little… under the weather…" His voice trailed off as he took in just how close they were, their faces inches apart. Carl's body wasn't really leaning into him too heavily, but the proximity was making him very nervous. Perhaps it was because they were already in a closed space, and Carl was just staring him down like that… in any case, Blake could feel the blush spreading across his face, and began struggling to breathe normally.

Carl wasn't quite sure why he was so worked up, but something about the way Blake had evaded his questions really pissed him off and made him nervous at the same time. He was starting to think that maybe he had been mistaken about the younger boy's feelings, and Blake was the one suspecting Carl of having such feelings.

Maybe Blake honestly did just see him as a friend; Carl couldn't help the wave of sullen disappointment that swept through him at the thought. He had come to the conclusion, from all those hours sitting up in the Rocket thinking, that he may be bisexual. Concluding that he probably _would_ go out with Blake, if the opportunity presented itself.

He had taken out Noelle's picture, the girl who had been his first love, and stared at it, making sure there hadn't been any romantic feeling towards her left. He had successfully proven to himself that he was indeed over her, as he hardly even felt upset at her anymore. He had moved on – he could move on.

But then Wednesday happened, and he was left confused again.

"What happened, Blakey?" he asked softly. He noticed the red stain on the other boy's face, and the way he was starting to hyperventilate. Highly doubting that it was fear, Carl looked at him confusedly, but still noticed how adorable he looked, all flustered and nervous like that. Without thinking, he brought his face closer to Blake's, their lips brushing-

Carl was nearly thrown backwards as the car, which had been travelling smoothly, jolted to a firm stop. Blake grabbed fistfuls of the older boy's jacket, saving him at the last minute, and Carl collapsed onto Blake in surprise. For a second he recollected his senses, and Blake gasped at the weight that had landed directly on him, still blushing furiously. Carl rolled off of the younger boy just as the glass partition went down and Winston's voice cheerily called back to them.

"Here we are, Master Carl, at the Foutley residence-" he paused as he caught sight of Blake and Carl struggling upright, Blake still panting. "Are you boys alright? I do apologize if that stop was rather sudden-"

"Nah, it's alright, Winston," Carl said quickly, opening the door.

"Master Carl, it's still drizzling, let me accomp-"

"No need, I'll just make a run for it," Carl cut in. "Thanks Winston, see ya!" He paused, before glancing very quickly at Blake and getting out a "See-ya-Gripling", then turned around and ran.

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A/N: Well, that's it for now. Maybe the next chapter (or two) will resolve the whole Noelle issue between them, and lead to an ending.. I don't want to drag this fic on for too long in case my updates are too slow, or I don't finish it :/

In any case, I hope you liked what you read! Will update as soon as I can :)


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